Lessons in Heartbreak: Chapter 10

Bam, bam, bam.

Groaning into my pillow, I curled onto my side and pried my eyes open, wondering why the sun was hardly in the sky and someone was using a jackhammer somewhere in my house.

Bam, bam, bam.

“Bruiser, attack,” I moaned.

The dog in question, sprawled out next to me just like he was every night, also groaned, sliding off the bed inelegantly and shaking off the sleep before ambling down the hallway to check on the commotion.

If someone ever tried to break into my house, that dog would probably sleep through it. The click of Bruiser’s nails on the hardwood started tapping quickly, and he gave an excited whine as he danced around.

Staring up at the ceiling, I let out a heavy sigh. The clock on my nightstand told me it was 6:45 a.m., and that was much, much too early on my day off.

Instead of another knock, the phone on my bedside table dinged with a text, and I rolled over to a sitting position as I yawned.

“Coming,” I called out. My bleary eyes narrowed as the text came into focus. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Griffin:Let me in, birdy. I’ve got muffins and coffee.

With a huff, I flung off the covers, dumping my phone somewhere in the pile of blankets before I ripped a cardigan off the back of my bedroom door. I slipped my arms in as I walked down the hallway, pulling my hair out from the neck of the sweater before wrapping the fuzzy material tight around my upper body.

Bruiser’s nose was pressed to the door, his butt wiggling in excitement, and when I yanked the door open, he sprang out to greet Griffin.

The man in question laughed as my dog ran in excited circles around his legs. “Good morning, pup. Did you miss me?”

I slicked my tongue over my teeth and waited—very patiently, I might add—for any sort of explanation as to why he was at my home before seven in the morning.

At my home looking fresh and wide awake and like he’d just hopped off a magazine cover. His long legs were covered in black joggers, his upper body in a fitted white T-shirt bearing the Denver logo. A black cap tugged low over his face made him look slightly mysterious, tiptoeing over the line of disreputable with the heavy stubble coating his jaw.

“If this is your idea of teaching me anything, I’m ready to renegotiate.”

When he looked up, his eyes widened slightly, running over my sleep-crazy hair and the cardigan, lingering slightly on my bare legs. “Good morning, sunshine. That’s quite a sweater.”

It was criminal, really, his ability to keep me off-balance.

In truth, the sweater was a ghastly thing—three sizes too big, made from a fuzzy purple yarn that no one should be wearing in public. “Lauren made it for me,” I explained unnecessarily. “She went through a phase a few years back. Tried to get me to join along, but knitting isn’t my thing.”

“No?”

I shook my head. “It makes me feel violent, actually.”

He whistled. “Then by all means, make sure you don’t do it when I’m around.”

I smiled tightly. “You seem to bring out that side of me all by yourself. Now, what are you doing here?”

He held up the familiar bakery bag. “Blake says good morning and gives her apologies for being out of blueberries, but she’s expecting a delivery today.”

With a sigh, I stepped back to let him in. “How did you know where I lived?”

Griffin waltzed into my house, ducking slightly so he didn’t whack his head on the doorframe. “We have this amazing newfangled thing called the internet now. You should try it.” He passed me the bag, setting down the drink carrier on the antique credenza against the wall to the right of my front door. “It’s cute in here. Very homey.”

“Thanks.”

“Do your parents live in town too?” he asked, studying the family pictures on the wall—trips we’d taken together when I was in high school. He tapped on the frame of a painting of an indigo bunting perched on the branch of an aspen tree. “This is pretty.”

“Thank you. And no, um, they live in Fort Collins, which isn’t far. But at the moment, they’re on a cruise around the world.”

His eyebrows shot up. “No shit? That’s cool.”

I nodded. “They retired a few years ago but never really got to celebrate. So . . . I told them there was no time like the present.”

“Huh. How long will they be gone?”

“About five months, I think. They left eight weeks ago.”

After he finished perusing the room, his eyes shifted back to me. I felt naked, and tugging ineffectually on the hem of the sweater didn’t help, because then my sleep T-shirt was exposed. He noticed, of course, his sharp golden eyes resting on the faded words underneath when the cardigan fell open.

Run like Mr. Collins is proposing.

“I don’t get it,” he said, gesturing to the shirt.

“Pride and Prejudice joke,” I explained, my cheeks likely a bright, candy-apple red because my legs were bare, my hair was a disaster after disjointed dreams featuring the King twins in various stages of undress, and I wasn’t wearing a bra. Not that he’d be able to notice. That was the beautiful thing about a B cup. Still, I crossed my arms tightly across my chest just in case. “Why are you here, Griffin? The sun’s barely out.”

“I need to look at your closet. I’m doing a clothing inventory.”

The words came out of his mouth clearly enough, but I stared at him for what felt like a solid minute before I started laughing. He didn’t find it quite as funny, and when I didn’t stow the laughter quickly enough, he gave Bruiser a quick scratch on the head and started down the hallway.

“Hey,” I called out. “You can’t just wander around my house.”

He ducked his head into the guest room, which I’d turned into a reading room because no one ever visited me. “Treadmill in the library, eh?”

“Yeah, um, I try to walk a couple miles every day, and I hate being cold, so in the winter I use that.”

Griffin made a humming noise. “Didn’t peg you for a runner.”

“I’m not a runner,” I said patiently. “I said I walk every day. You have terrible listening skills.”

After a quick peek into the only bathroom in the house—which I’d recently repainted a soft, soothing bluish gray—he glanced over his shoulder. “Pretty color,” he said.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Reminds me of your eyes.” Then he brushed past me, ignoring the fact that my mouth had fallen open. No one had ever told me my eyes were pretty before.

Gray never seemed all that exciting to me. When I was young, I longed for green eyes or blue eyes or a deep chocolaty brown. Something rich and decadent and beautiful.

Also three words no one would ever use to describe me.

Wrenching a hand through my hair, I snagged a ponytail holder from the bathroom counter and attempted to wrangle the bird’s nest into submission while I stared at the broad expanse of Griffin’s back. He’d set his hands on his hips while he stared into my bedroom.

“God, it’s like a tomb in here,” he said, striding in and pulling open the light-blocking curtains.

“I like a dark room for sleeping.” Defensiveness had my voice a little short, and it did nothing except make him smile. “It’s important for your health to get good sleep every night.”

“Hmmm.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “What time do you go to bed every night, birdy?”

“Nine thirty,” I told him. “Ten at the latest.”

He grinned. “Me too.”

“Yeah right.”

“During the season, I have to,” he explained, idly scratching his stomach over the expensive-looking cotton of his shirt. “Need my beauty sleep as much as the next person.”

Before he wandered over to the closet, he eyed the mess of blankets on my queen-size bed with a slight grin. “You’re a violent sleeper, aren’t you?”

“You’ll have to ask Bruiser,” I said, tugging the blankets up over the pillows and smoothing them out. The dog was sitting in between us, his ears perked high at the sound of his name. “He’s never complained before, though.”

“No, I expect he wouldn’t,” Griffin said distractedly, flipping through the matching hangers. “You own a shocking amount of black and white, young lady.”

My chin rose an inch. “They’re timeless.”

After pulling out one of my many pencil skirts, he tilted his head. “You have six of these.”

“Observant, aren’t you?”

The dimple in his cheek flashed when he grinned; the fact that I’d even noticed made me astronomically pissy. “I need to eat something. Don’t go through my underwear drawer, okay?”

“No promises,” he called out. “Which drawer is that, just so I know?”

“Second one down. Don’t open it,” I warned.

The raspberry muffin was delicious, and I shoved half of it in my mouth while I wandered into the kitchen to boil some water for my single cup of tea in the morning.

“I got you a coffee.” His voice traveled down the hallway as I filled the kettle.

“I saw that, thank you. But, um, I don’t drink coffee. I try to limit my caffeine intake, so I usually just have a cup of tea.”

“You hardly ever drink, you go to bed early. Walk two miles a day. Don’t drink coffee. Men are off the table. Does Ruby Tate have any vices? Oh, hang on, I just figured it out.” His frame filled the doorway, arms full of cardigans. “You have seventeen cardigans in varying shades of white and black. Seventeen!”

I exhaled slowly through puffed-out cheeks. “What’s wrong with that? I know what I like to wear.”

“You have one in blue. You were wearing it the other day when I was at the library.”

Since I was leaning over to make sure the flames were at the right height on the burner, he couldn’t see me grimace. “I was.”

“Do you feel good when you wear it?”

With a tight jaw, I nodded.

“So why don’t you own more clothes like that?”

Crossing my arms tight across my chest, I finally whirled to face him. “Because when I purchase clothes, it’s utilitarian. Will they cover my body? Will they keep me warm in a freezing-cold library? I’m literally never thinking about the opposite sex when I go shopping.”

Griffin pursed his lips slightly, studying me from head to toe. My hand gripped the eggplant-purple cardigan, just to make sure he didn’t get an accidental glimpse of nipple underneath my shirt.

Note to self: sleep in a sports bra while Griffin is in town.

“I think I’ve got this figured out,” he said.

“Have you?”

Despite my dry tone, he nodded. “Now, while that water’s heating, come show me your three favorite outfits. Not to feel sexy or attract attention, but your favorites for when you want to dress nicely.”

Sighing heavily, I followed him down the hallway, acutely aware that he filled so much space in my tiny little house. My room felt like it had shrunk down by half.

Instead of dwelling on that, or how it felt having him loom behind me while I studied my closet (honestly, it was obnoxious how much smaller I was than him), I gave my closet a cursory scan, then picked the first three things that came to mind.

A black sheath dress I’d had for the better part of a decade—my go-to for funerals or fancier events. I’d been known to wear it to weddings too.

A black-and-white tweed pencil skirt that I paired with different blouses.

And the light-blue set he’d seen me in.

Griffin did his best to hang the cardigans back in place, and afterward, he turned to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer.

“Hey.”

He whistled. “This was not purchased to be utilitarian.” Dangling on his finger was the single nicest piece of lingerie I owned. The bra was a delicate lace design in a deep, rich blue color, and it came with a pair of matching high-cut bikini panties.

I snatched it out of his hand. “It was a gift. I’ve never actually worn it.” His eyes stayed locked on the bra in my hand, and I pushed past him to shove it back in the drawer.

“Now that’s a fucking shame. Who gave it to you?”

“My friend Lauren,” I said. “She’s . . . very pushy sometimes.” My cheeks flushed. “She bought me a monstrous dildo for my birthday last month.”

Griffin’s eyes sparkled like he was laughing, but his mouth stayed remarkably even. “No kidding.”

“I made her take it home with her.”

He clicked his tongue in disappointment. “Why would you do something like that?”

Instead of answering him honestly—that I was slightly terrified the thing would eat me alive—I said, “I was afraid Bruiser would think it’s a chew toy.”

“I think I’d get along with Lauren.”

“That’s why you’re never allowed to hang out with her.” Griffin laughed. Such an easy, rich sound. Ignoring the way it raised the hair on the back of my neck, I clasped my hands in front of me. “Now what? You going to donate all my clothes? Burn them in a ceremonial bonfire?”

“Nah.” He clapped his hands together. “We’re going shopping.”

The blood drained from my face. “We are not.”

Griffin’s gaze swept over me. “You gonna pass out, birdy?”

“I hate shopping,” I said miserably.

“This wouldn’t be normal shopping, though. I can call in a few favors, we’ll have the place to ourselves—”

“So everyone in there will know I’m naked behind a curtain and fawn all over me? No thank you.” I shuddered lightly, because that felt like emotional trauma waiting to happen. “There’s a reason we have the internet, and it’s so we never, ever have to set foot in a clothing store ever again.”

“Really? You don’t want your own Pretty Woman shopping montage in an upscale boutique? Most women—” His voice cut off when I narrowed my eyes. “Right. No sweeping generalizations about the opposite sex. Got it.”

My shoulders deflated. “It’s a generous thought, Griffin. I just can’t.”

“You are a terrible student so far,” he observed.

I pushed my tongue into my cheek, holding his gaze unflinchingly. If that man wanted to get me into a mall or something equally horrid, he’d have to pay me.

There was no hiding his disappointment when he sighed, but to his credit, he didn’t try to argue. His pointer finger tapped over his lips, a considering look on his face.

Griffin studied me head to toe again, this time his gaze lingering on my legs. “Do you mind taking off the sweater, just for a moment?”

My hand gripped it tighter. “Why?”

“Research.”

With that cryptic word hanging between us, Griffin watched me carefully as my hand eased its grip on the fuzzy purple and I let it slide off my shoulders, tossing it on the bed. With the knitted armor gone, I was left in some inexcusably short shorts, all but invisible underneath the oversize T-shirt.

With a tilt of his head, he took a step closer. The spicy, crisp scent of him filled my head, and I tried to hide a slow inhale as he came a bit too close for comfort.

Griffin lifted both hands and reached out, stopping just shy of touching my ribs when I tensed. “If I put my hands right here,” he said quietly, “I could almost wrap them around you completely, couldn’t I?”

Every inch of my skin buzzed with invisible currents. He was right. If he grabbed me around the waist, if he stretched his palms out around my rib cage, his massive hands would cover so much of my body.

The thing about strength is that it’s intoxicating to be around when you’re someone not in possession. Even if you’re normally not impressed by such a thing, and I wasn’t. Griffin was in possession of mind-boggling strength. His frame—so overwhelmingly large compared to my own—carried a massive amount of power, barely leashed, in the muscles he’d spent his life honing to resemble his own sort of weapon. And right now, he was being so careful not to let that weapon be something that scared me.

Because I was small. And rather weak, at least in comparison.

Strength, in this strangely charged moment, looked like outstretched hands that could crush bones and do even more damage to someone’s heart.

Not mine, of course. Someone’s.

My eyes felt like they weighed a thousand pounds when I tried to lift my gaze to his. “Trust me, I’ve heard enough in my life that curves are what make a woman sexy. I know I don’t have that.” Gritty sand coated my throat when I tried to talk next. “Like trying to fuck a corpse,” I said evenly, although the words hurt coming up.

His brow furrowed immediately, eyes darkening. “Someone said that to you?” There was a dangerous timbre to his voice. An invisible pitch that he probably wasn’t even aware of. A growling edge that crept into those five words.

That edge felt like a balm over a scar that I’d carried for years, something meant to heal and soothe the cracked, angry edges. Almost like he’d sliced open some hidden side of himself for the sole purpose of making me feel better. It would be so easy to sink into his protective streak if I allowed myself to.

Breaking the intensity was a necessity, so I cleared my throat, turning to pull the cardigan off the bed. “It’s a general thought among most men, I’d wager. Am I allowed to put this back on now?”

Before I could wrap it around my shoulders, Griffin took yet another step closer. I backed up slightly, my calves hitting the edge of my bed.

“Most men would never, ever say that to you. Wouldn’t think it either. Not in a million years. And if someone did”—he dipped his head, and I couldn’t look away—“then he’s a fucking moron who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

There was a horrid burn at the back of my eyes, and I looked down at the ground, where his much larger feet were bracketed around mine.

Shame felt like a sticky, oily cloak stuck to freshly washed skin, and if you tried to pluck it off, it simply left behind a black residue that wasn’t easily wiped away. There was shame behind so many emotional reactions, wasn’t there? Even if I hadn’t been the one to say it, I still felt the slightest hint of that shame simply by being the one who’d inspired it.

It was so fucked up. Wrong. Unfair.

But it was still there, no matter how much I wished otherwise. Another switch I couldn’t flip, stuck in the wrong position for far longer than I’d ever wanted it to be.

“I should get ready,” I told him. “I have a doctor’s appointment in Denver, so I need to be out the door by eight thirty.”

Griffin was quiet for a moment; then he slowly backed up. Some of the pressure eased around my rib cage, and I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose.

“When will you be back?” he asked.

“Not before two. I have a couple places I’d like to stop while I’m downtown.”

“Got any plans tonight?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, big ones.”

His eyebrows rose fractionally.

“You asked what my vices are,” I said, gesturing back toward the big, comfy couch in my family room. “I plan to sit right there and watch period romance movies until I fall asleep. And it’s how I always end my days off, so I don’t want to hear a word out of you.”

Griffin notched his fingers to his temple in a mock salute. “Can I come back after dinner?”

“Why?”

Oh, the way he grinned in answer—it was devastating, and I fought the urge to place a hand over my stomach to calm the rioting burst of nerves at the sight of it.

“Do you trust me?”

No.

Yes.

Sort of.

The indecision must have played out over my face, because he laughed quietly under his breath. “Trust me,” he said firmly. “I’ll be back later.”